Free Spirit Seeker by Joan Lowery Nixon

better trying the house on the other side of the Marsh home—one of the “large lovelies,” as I was beginning to think of them. My mind made up, I took a few steps, then stopped, my gaze pulled again to the “Hansel and Gretel” house.
    No
, I thought, and started down the block, but stopped again, drawn toward the little house under the trees. Okay. I was here, so I’d try the little house first. Even if the occupants of the house hadn’t seen or heard anything, it made sense not to leave them out.
    The walk wasn’t another straight line from sidewalk to front steps. It wound back and forth in curves as round as a garden snake’s, carrying me into a silent, sheltered, green-spun world that was perfumed with a damp, earthy, mossy fragrance.
    As I reached the front door, it opened, and the woman who stood there in the dusky light smiled. It wasn’t a smile of welcome but a satisfied smile she had saved for herself.
    “The girl with amber in her hair,” she murmured. “I knew you would come.”

Chapter Seven
    H
er hair was as jet black as I remembered it, her skin pearly, even in the greenish light. She was dressed in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, but around her neck, on a chain, hung an orb of amber, glimmering with golden lights.
    As I stood there, gaping, the woman stepped aside and said, “Please come in.”
    “Oh … thanks, but I can’t,” I answered. “I just want …”
    “You want to ask me some questions. Come in. I may be able to answer them for you.”
    She beckoned and, feeling as though I had no choice, I followed her into the living room. It was decorated in soft blues and greens, touched here and there with the subdued sunlight that filtered through the trees. As the door closed behind me, sealing off this underwaterlike aquarium, I settledinto a chair. The rippling colors washed over and through me.
    “My name is Glenda Jordan,” the woman said as she sat on a hassock opposite me. “Please call me Glenda.”
    “I’m Holly Campbell.”
    “You sought me out, Holly, so that I—”
    “Actually,” I cut in, “I’m going to as many houses as I can on the street, trying to find someone who might have seen or heard something at the Garnetts’ last night.”
    “You sought me out,” she repeated.
    There was no point in arguing, so I asked, “Did you see anyone besides Cody come or go from the Garnetts’ house?”
    “Physically,” she said, “I did not see anyone.”
    I must have looked as bewildered as I felt, because Glenda leaned forward, stared into my eyes with those deep pools of black, and murmured, “Let me explain. I see what others may not see, Holly. I am a clairvoyant.”
    “What’s a clairvoyant? Is it like a psychic?” I asked nervously. I wasn’t too sure what a psychic was either.
    Glenda gave a little shake of her head. “No, no.” She picked up an egg-shaped polished stone that lay on her coffee table and held it out. “A psychic might take an object like this, something that belonged to an individual, and try to make mental contact with that person.”
    Suddenly remembering, I said, “I’ve read about that. A psychic in Dallas goes through this routinewhen she works with the police in finding missing bodies.”
    “I’m aware of her work.”
    “And some psychics claim to tell the future, don’t they?”
    Glenda frowned. “No matter what anyone claims, no one can foretell the future. It is not for us to know.”
    “You don’t believe in horoscopes?”
    “No. I do not.”
    Puzzled, I said, “You haven’t told me yet what a clairvoyant is.”
    “A clairvoyant is someone who has the power to see objects, people, or actions removed from natural viewing.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “A clairvoyant deals directly with the spirits, through visions. A clairvoyant is a spirit seeker.” When I didn’t respond, she said, “At times I get a direct picture of an event taking place. It’s like a motion picture in my mind. This is why we need to